


Softer, Softest

by LaTessitrice



Series: Echo Prompts [4]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Echo - Freeform, F/M, When there's so little fic for a pairing you have to write it yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 02:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/pseuds/LaTessitrice
Summary: Tumblr prompt:Liz has a hard day at work and max is the perf boyfriend. Running her a bath, cooking her dinner. Because MAZ EVANS WOULD DO LITERALLY ANYTHING FOR LIZ ORTECHO.





	Softer, Softest

Liz whines as she kicks off her shoes, letting her feet drop down from the arched position they’ve been forced into all afternoon. She doesn’t ordinarily wear heels, but she and Doctor Avila had a big presentation, so business attire it was. She also finally takes the chance to take her hair down, pulling the bobby pins out one by one as she pads across Max’s living room.

She’d have gone straight home, but she hasn’t seen him in three days and promised that she’d drop by. Despite how tired she is, despite how much she just wants to crawl into bed after working sixteen hour days to get to the work done on time, she has to admit nothing would have deterred her from coming here. And he’s a sight for sore eyes, in his beaten old t-shirt and jeans. 

“How did it go?” he asks, leaning across the counter to kiss her in greeting.

She drops the bobby pins onto the tile and starts massaging her scalp. “Well, I think. I might have got a little enthusiastic about some of the details and stopped paying attention to how they were reacting.”

He smiles, that slanted grin which curls up further on one side than the other and makes her heart flutter. “Not like you at all.” His fingers are in her hair, on her scalp, rubbing delicious circles. 

She tips her face up, leaning into his touch, and lets out a contented groan. “That’s perfect.”

“If your feet hurt, you should sit down.”

She nods. “Gladly.”

Once she’s curled up on the couch, he rounds the counter. “I made dinner,” he says, putting a plate of pasta and meatballs down in front of her. 

“You cook?”

“Yeah. I live alone—it was either learn, starve, or live on take-out. I’m not saying I’m Gordon Ramsay but I no longer burn water.”

Liz spears pasta onto her fork and shoves it into her mouth. The rich flavor of the sauce—tomato, oregano, and a kick of chilli—spreads across her tongue and she moans. “You liar,” she says between mouthfuls, loading up another forkful. “This is amazing. Is there wine in the sauce?”

He smiles, a little bashful, but also delighted. “Yup.”

“I can’t believe you never told me you can cook like this. I’m eating here every night from now on if it’s always like this.”

Yeah, he’s definitely delighted by that.

She all but licks the plate clean. “Okay, I guess I’m on dish duty.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s what the dishwasher is for.”

“Well, I can at least load it.” But he takes the plate from her and gently guides her back down onto the couch.

“Sit. Relax.” He commands. “I didn’t make dessert but I can find something, if you want it.”

She stretches out, resting her hands over her pleasantly full belly. “I’m good. Please don’t tell me you bake as well.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t. But I do have a sister who insists I have Girl Scout cookies to hand at all times.”

She pats the cushions for him to sit down next to her, but he stays standing, hovering next to the couch.

“You look tired,” he says, concern etched into his features.

“I’m fine. I just need to relax.” She stretches out her legs, circling her ankles until they crack a little.

“Foot massage?” he offers, already halfway to his knees in front of her.

“It’s fine.” She waves him away. “You don’t need to do anything. Sit. Be with me. You shouldn’t anywhere near my feet anyway, not until I’ve showered.”

But he won’t be deterred. “I’ll draw you a bath,” he insists, disappearing down the hallway while she does her best to melt into the cushions.

Five minutes later he’s back, tugging at her hand until she stands up, noisily protesting the whole time. 

“C’mon, you deserve to relax.”

“I came here to spend time with you! What’s the point of me being here if I’m in the tub and you’re out in the living room reading Steinbeck?”

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “The point is letting me take care of you.” Then he pushes the bathroom door open to reveal the glow of a thousand candles and enough bubbles in the tub to swallow a small town. It’s a miracle he hasn’t scattered a path of rose petals on the floor. “And I’m not averse to staying and helping you wash your hair or scrub your back.”

She grabs his hand and tugs him into the room, closing the door behind them. “Good. Because that tub is big enough for two. You can read me sonnets if you really want to.”


End file.
